He drove alone beside his sugar bush; His measure-pacing horse was not quite slow Enough to let him fill his deepening eyes With the wine-washed November afterglow. In silence sunk, he took the windy turn Round the gulfed woods, and past the Tories' well. The falls of Little River in his ears (Or in his memory!) sounded like a shell. The mountains had been hidden. Now, near home, He saw them: Windward, in its barren pride; Blaze, with its sunset rocks; and Pioneer, The cloven giant of that countryside. Their leaflessness, their stillness and their age He let his spirit drink. He slowed again His ancient horse, and stayed to look his fill All that last hour before the evening train. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE FIRST VOYAGE OF JOHN CABOT [1497] by KATHARINE LEE BATES HUMAN LIFE: ON THE DENIAL OF IMMORTALITY by SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE A TRAMPWOMAN'S TRAGEDY by THOMAS HARDY OEDIPUS AT COLONUS: OLD AGE by SOPHOCLES ECSTACY by KENNETH SLADE ALLING REVOLUTION by LOUISA SARAH BEVINGTON OUR LADY OF CHANGE by BERTON BRALEY ON THE CAUSE, CONSQUENCE AND CURE OF SPIRITUAL PRIDE by JOHN BYROM |